


F*** It’s Cold Outside

by MarzgaPerez



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Christmas, M/M, Season 3, Sexy Times, Snowed In, Song: Baby It's Cold Outside, the tiniest bit of angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: S3 throwback, alternate “sleepover” one shot, inspired by the “Baby It’s Cold Outside” holiday song.Gallavich-style. Only good stuff.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115
Collections: Gallavich Holiday 2020





	F*** It’s Cold Outside

Ian isn’t exactly sure how the stars aligned to make this happen. Call it a Christmas miracle. Well, an _almost_ Christmas miracle since it’s December 22nd.  
  
Mickey Milkovich is sitting in his living room, just inches away. And Mickey is, well, for Ian, so many things. Calling him Ian’s _crush_ is just the tip of the iceberg. Sure, they’re fuck buddies, have been for awhile, but _way_ on the DL because no one else knows about him and Mickey, except Lip. Oh, and fucking Frank, who caught them together at the Kash and Grab before Mickey went back to juvie, but he seems to have forgotten.

Anyway, it’s never happened before, but they have the entire Gallagher house to themselves. Lip’s over at the Milkovich house, shacking up with Mandy, and Fiona’s taken the younger kids to visit some relative of Monica’s who’s offered to fix them a charity meal since Monica is so fucking sorry. And Frank, well, who knows what alley he’s passed out in? _I just hope he stays the fuck away,_ thinks Ian.

He and Mickey are in the living room, eating pizza and drinking beer while they have a few laughs, talking about shit that’s been happening in the neighborhood and most recently, how Ian’s ex-lover’s wife shot Mickey in the ass during a heist gone wrong. There’s a movie playing in the background, and this is one of the more “romantic” things Ian has done with Mickey—though he’s trying to keep his cool and not act like some sort of lovelorn dweeb about it. 

Halfway into the movie, Ian gets up for a few more beers from the fridge and notices the snow falling outside the kitchen window. It’s really coming down, but he knows if he says anything to Mickey, the guy might bolt. Because fuck, Ian was really hoping they’d get to fool around soon. Maybe Mickey might even be okay with them kissing again. Or something more. Whatever Mickey will allow at this point is fine with Ian. So he doesn’t mention the snow.

They polish off the rest of the beers, talk some smack about Bruce Willis, and just like that, the movie is over. As the credits start rolling, Ian glances over at Mickey, hoping to catch his eye and give him a look to let him know what’s on his mind. But Mickey gets up abruptly and walks over to the window.

“Shit! Gotta get home, man. Looks like a fuckin’ blizzard.”

Ian panics. How can he convince Mickey to stay? He jumps up off the couch. “Are you sure? It’s really coming down out there.”

“That’s why I gotta go now.”

 _No, no. Fuck. What should I do?_

“You sure? The snowflakes are the size of my fist. You won’t be able to find your way home.”

“Doubt that,” Mickey shrugs, making a beeline for the front door. He pauses and turns to face Ian but doesn’t make eye contact. “Anyway, uh, the movie was okay. At least you kept your trap shut for most of it.”

Ian forces a laugh, trying to hide his disappointment over the fact that their evening is ending. He moves closer to Mickey. “Well...glad you came over.”

“Better television here than at my place.” Mickey pulls his jacket and scarf on. “See ya round.”

Ian knows he has to do something to stop Mickey from leaving. But what? He reaches out to grab Mickey’s hand but lets go quickly before the brunet has a chance to react. “Your hands are like ice, Mick.”

“You tryin’ to hold my hand, Gallagher?”

“N-no,” Ian stutters. “I just figured they might be cold. You should stay and get warm.”

“That so?” Mickey looks like he’s thinking it over but ultimately shakes his head. “Nah. Terry might actually wonder where I am.”

Ian persists. “C’mon. _Stay_. We can put the TV on that channel with the live fireplace.”

“The fuck you been smoking?”

“How about another drink?”

Mickey looks puzzled. “We drank all the beer, man.”

“Then I’ll make you something else. Something hot.”

To Ian’s great relief, Mickey sighs and shucks off his coat and scarf before returning to the couch. “Fine.” Certain that he’s not going anywhere for the moment, Ian feels safe going into the kitchen to whip something up. 

Mickey calls out to him. “Think V or Kev saw me come in?”

“Who gives a fuck?” Ian responds, frantically opening the cabinets before finding a blessed box of instant hot chocolate mix.

“Don’t want them thinking shit, you know…’bout us.”

“They’re not the kind of neighbors who talk,” Ian reassures him as he whips up two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, complete with shots of Kahlúa from Fiona’s secret liquor stash that she thinks no one knows about.

Ian returns to the living room, his eyes raking over Mickey’s body and how he’s sprawled out on the couch, head leaning back against the cushions, the pale skin of his neck exposed, like it’s just waiting to be marked. Mickey snaps his fingers to get Ian’s attention and reaches out to take a mug from Ian. He swallows a huge gulp of the warm liquid. “The fuck’s in this drink?”

Ian chuckles and commences with his plan to give Mickey a better reason to stay. He sets his own mug down on the coffee table, turns off the overhead light, and positions himself in front of Mickey, the soft glow from the Christmas tree lights creating just the right ambiance. “You don’t like the hot chocolate I made?” Ian asks as he slowly drops to his knees, stroking the inseam of Mickey’s jeans and watching Mickey watch him.

“Uh. It’s okay…” Mickey sets the mug aside. “Think I know where you’re going with this,” he quips, smirking and folding his arms behind his head. “And I approve.”

Ian hums quietly as he unbuttons and unzips Mickey’s jeans, their eyes meeting as Ian tugs at the fabric. Mickey takes the hint and lifts his hips far enough off the couch for Ian to pull them down to his ankles.

“What kind of spell you tryin’ to put me under, Gallagher?”

“No spell.” Ian sucks in a breath as his hand brushes over the front of Mickey’s boxers. “Let’s get these off, too.”

Ian presses the tips of his fingers against Mickey’s warm skin, just above the waistband of his boxers, trying not to tickle his midsection as they work together to get his boxers down as far as his jeans.

He pauses to take in the sight in front of him, Mickey’s chest heaving up and down, the hem of his shirt resting just above his belly button and then the trail of dark hair leading down, down to a most spectacular sight.

“You just gonna stare at it?” Mickey asks, clearly uncomfortable with being the object of Ian’s relentless desire. “Or maybe I should go?”

“No, no,” Ian shakes his head as though he’s coming out of a trance, which he sort of is. There’s something about Mickey being exposed like that, vulnerable and trusting, so obviously wanting what Ian’s going to give him, but trying to act casual.

“You need a formal invitation or—”

Before Mickey can finish his comment, Ian has his mouth around the tip of his cock, and he’s digging his fingers into the sides of Mickey’s legs, like he’s trying to steady the both of them.

“Fuuuuck,” Mickey half whispers, half moans as Ian takes in all of him. Mickey’s fingers slowly make their way to rest in Ian’s hair. This is just the encouragement he needs to draw his mouth and tongue up the length of Mickey’s cock and back down again.

“M-maybe you oughta stop,” Mickey breathes out, and Ian thinks he must be hearing things. “It’s _really_ coming down out there.”

 _Okay, what the fuck?_ Ian reluctantly slides his lips off of Mickey, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and sits back on his knees. He’s pretty much scowling at Mickey, which he rarely does, but he’s fed up.

What’s weird is Mickey’s looking just as confused, staring down at his still very much erect dick and then Ian. “The fuck? Why’d you stop?”

“Are you kidding me, Mick?” Ian scoffs. “I’m not gonna hold you hostage. If you wanna go, then go.”

Mickey scratches his head, and Ian has probably surprised both of them with his tone. But dammit if he doesn’t want to get right back to what he was doing before Mickey’s bitching got the better of him.

“Thought we were doin’ a thing, is all,” Mickey says, gazing towards the window. “I was, you know, trying to, uh...play hard to get?”

 _Oh. Shit. Okay, this is new_ , thinks Ian, and he can tell how embarrassed Mickey is right now, having said what he said out loud. So Ian doesn’t give him a chance to second guess it.

He’s back between Mickey’s legs in an instant, and he’s swirling his tongue over the head of Mickey’s dick, which is still mostly erect. “Mind if I move in closer?” Ian asks, not really waiting for a response, flattening his tongue and licking a long, wet stripe from the base of Mickey’s cock to the tip.

“Fuck yeah,” Mickey sighs as Ian has him in his mouth again. “I should definitely get going.”

Now that Ian knows what they’re doing, he’s determined to find a way to get Mickey to shut the hell up and erase any ideas about leaving from his mind.

He’s hollowing out his cheeks and bobbing his head up and down more furiously than he probably ever has before, the quiet in the room being filled with Mickey’s stilted groans and the sounds of Ian’s satisfied humming and spit against skin. The harder he’s going at it, the more Mickey tries to protest. 

“It’s a fuckin’ blizzard out there. I should g-go now…”

_Really, Mickey? Is that what you really want to do?_

“Fuck, Gallagher. Your mouth. So fuckin’ warm.” Clearly Mickey must be a goner to be saying these things.

Ian’s on a mission, and this fuels his fire even more. Same thing when Mickey uses both hands to pull Ian as close as possible, pushing his dick towards the back of Ian’s throat. Ian loosens his jaw and let’s Mickey fuck his mouth, and he really likes this sensation of Mickey taking control and using him until he’s coming, coming down Ian’s throat and not letting up on the pressure until Ian has sucked him dry.

“Fuck...oh fuck,” Mickey’s repeating over and over again until he gets quiet.

Ian slowly pulls off of Mickey’s softening dick, letting his head rest against his bare thigh. After a minute of two, when Mickey’s breathing has returned to normal, Ian feels a tap on his shoulder, followed by a hand that grips his upper arm and pulls him up onto the couch.

“Undo your fly,” Mickey commands, and Ian complies eagerly, unbuttoning his pants, practically on the verge of coming when Mickey snakes his hand into the opening in his boxers. Ian closes his eyes as Mickey gives him a few pumps and runs his thumb over his slit. 

He knows that Mickey’s watching his reaction, so he opens his mouth a little more, let’s out a soft moan because he wants Mickey to know how good he’s making him feel. Mickey’s strokes become more rhythmic, and fuck, Ian knows he’s going to make a huge-ass mess when he comes.

He’s so close, and he’s starting to move his lower half frantically, gyrating with each stroke. And then something unexpected happens, and Ian needs to see this. He opens his eyes and looks down. 

Mickey’s lips are wrapped around Ian’s cock, and he feels like he’s literally exploding on the inside when he comes, the warmth of Mickey’s mouth combined with the realization that Mickey is swallowing his load for the very first time ever. Ian’s hands are clenched at his sides as he writhes around in pleasure, soaking up every possible second of this euphoria because he’s certain that Mickey will be out the door in no time—he hates Ian’s corny banter after they’ve gotten each other off.

But surprisingly, Mickey doesn’t mention leaving—not yet. Instead, the brunet sits up with a satisfied smirk, pulls his boxers and jeans up, then reaches into his back pocket to grab his lighter and a cigarette. “Not bad, Gallagher,” he comments in between puffs and eventually passes the cigarette to Ian. 

“Thanks,” the redhead says quietly.

They sit wordlessly until the cigarette is finished, and Mickey snuffs it out in the palm of his hand. “You think Mandy suspects anything ‘bout us?” he asks, out of the blue, but all Ian can think about are how delicious his lips look, how those perfect, rosy lips were wrapped around his dick just minutes ago, how he wants to kiss Mickey, long and hard. He wants a kiss that lasts longer than a few seconds, though Ian will cherish his first kiss with Mickey in the van until the day he dies.

“I don’t think so. She’s got her hands full with Lip.”

“Asshole better not fuck her over,” Mickey warns.

 _Huh. Lip says the same thing about you_ , Ian thinks to himself.

“Supposed to go on a run with Iggy tomorrow.”

“Fat chance of that happening now,” Ian says, pointing towards the frosted window. He’s amused by the fact that Mickey’s making casual conversation, like he actually wants to stick around for once. Ian’s about to suggest they go raid the fridge when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out.

“Text from Fiona. Says they’re spending the night at our cousin’s place because of the weather,” Ian informs Mickey, suddenly distracted by his lips all over again.

“Guess there’s time for another cigarette.”

And hearing that makes Ian smile. He doesn’t even try to hide it, doesn’t even care if it annoys Mickey. He’s just glad to see the guy relaxed, and he’s hopeful, oh so hopeful that Mickey will stay the whole night.

“How about another movie?” Ian proposes, but really, he just needs some time to work up the courage to get a little closer to Mickey. 

“Fine.” Mickey agrees. “How ‘bout you heat up this hot chocolate and grab us something to eat? Kinda worked up an appetite.”

“Sure, Mick.” 

Ian returns a few minutes later with their drinks and a few bowls of chips, and Mickey does something else that’s new. He pats the empty spot next to him, his arm stretched over the top of the couch, like he’s been saving a spot just for Ian. 

“Sit. Need some heat in this bitch. Guess you’ll have to do.”

 _This is something,_ thinks Ian. _This is progress._

And it really is a cute gesture on Mickey’s part, but it’s kind of awkward since Ian’s shoulders are a good three inches above Mickey’s. They try to adjust for the height difference with Mickey sitting up taller and Ian slouching down.

Ian’s certain that Mickey feels about as ridiculous as he does, and they both start to laugh. Ian sits taller again, and there’s this thing that happens, like the energy in the room suddenly shifts, and Mickey’s looking up at him, looking almost like he wants to kiss Ian.

So Ian moves his lips closer to Mickey’s because what’s the worst that could happen? They’ve done it before, and no one’s around to interrupt them.

And the best possible thing happens. Mickey kisses him. It’s a gentle, open-mouthed kiss, like the one from the van—only his time, there’s no running away, no need to hurry it. So Ian doesn’t let him move away. His fingers travel lightly from Mickey’s shoulders to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their lips meet again. Mickey is handing Ian control, letting Ian draw him in, sighing softly as Ian slips his tongue ever so slightly between his lips.

Ian notices how Mickey’s entire body seems to be relaxing into his, and this is probably the closest they’ve ever been, outside of doing something entirely sexual. But this is different. This is much more intimate, more personal, and Ian wonders in the back of his mind when Mickey will decide that they’ve gone too far.

Thankfully, it doesn’t happen right away. In fact, they are probably halfway into the second movie, still making out when Ian somehow manages to let his hand slip to rest on Mickey’s chest, right over his heart. He doesn’t think anything of it, probably because he’s too distracted by how fucking incredible Mickey tastes, how luscious his lips are—and he knew they would be—and how good this thing he’s been denied _feels_. Ian starts tugging on Mickey’s shirt, like he wants to get rid of the thing, which, yes, he actually does. He wants to be naked with Mickey, and he wants to kiss him everywhere.

Fuck it. He thinks maybe he loves Mickey. It’s the damn truth, and Mickey probably suspects as much. 

“Shit! I better go, man,” Mickey declares abruptly, pushing Ian’s hand away and straightening his shirt. He’s up and moving towards the front door to grab his coat.

 _Fuck._ Ian went too far. It’s all too much, too fast.

“But you’ll freeze out there,” Ian says without even trying to mask the desperation in his voice.

“So give me your fucking gloves.”

“The snow’ll be up to your knees!”

“You makin’ fun of my height?”

“No! But what if you catch pneumonia or some shit and die?!”

“Calm down, Grandma. You can’t die from this,” says Mickey as he opens the door to make some kind of point but quickly regrets his decision when a gust of freezing-cold air hits them both.

“Fuck, it’s cold out!” Mickey slams the door shut. A few stray snowflakes make their way inside, swirling down towards the floor.

“So quit fucking around and spend the goddamn night,” Ian says before he can stop himself.

“Got a mouth on you, huh?”

“Fuck,” Ian says dejectedly. “We don’t have to kiss anymore. We don’t have to do anything. I just...well, I just…”

“Spit it out, Gallagher.”

“I just...wanna be with you. We have the whole house to ourselves.”

“Uh-huh,” Mickey nods, like he’s trying to hear Ian out, like he might be seeing his logic, like he might actually be willing to let his guard down because hey, there’s something in this for him, too. “But...”

Ian doesn’t bother making eye contact with Mickey. He figures he’s not going to like what he has to say.

“This boyfriend shit ain’t for me.”

 _Oh. That. Sure. Makes sense._ Ian nods. He gets it. Or at least, he’s trying to. He knows that Mickey can’t make any big moves right now. So maybe Ian can make things feel a little less overwhelming. 

“Not saying anything about _boyfriend_ shit. Just want you to sleep over. You’re right. About needing some heat in this bitch.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything at first, just shoves him towards the stairs. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

 _That took a lot of convincing_ , thinks Ian, but he knows better than to complain.

“You gotta swear on both your nuts you’ll sneak me out of here tomorrow,” adds Mickey. “Don’t care if I have to ski home. Fuck nosy neighbors and nosy Gallaghers.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” Ian promises, praying silently that Frank doesn’t wander into the house to take shelter from the snow storm. “Hold on.” He goes to lock the front door and runs to the kitchen to secure that door, too.

“Okay,” Ian declares, catching his breath. “Time to go make each other warm, or whatever they say in those sappy-ass Christmas songs.”

“For fuck’s sake, Gallagher,” Mickey growls as he follows Ian up the stairs. “Know when to quit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to J_Q for the beta and happy holidays to all in the fandom! 😘
> 
> I sorta love “Baby It’s Cold Outside” but then again, sometimes I don’t. I definitely had fun intertwining Gallavich into the song.


End file.
